by Amir Sanchez
Smiling Faces Tell Lies
Back in the Federal Detention Center, Gus was finally granted access to the telephone. His first call was placed to his wife. After setting up his electronic voice message, the call was connected. There was a brief message informing the party of the inmate’s name, telling them that the call was being monitored and recorded, and any three-way calling would result in the call being terminated. They then had to push 5 to accept the call or 7 to block any further calls. When Trish’s voice came across the line, he could tell that she’d been crying and waiting impatiently for his call.
“Oh my God, Gus, baby, what is going on? Why am I just hearing from you? I miss you so much, baby. I’m scared to death out here, Gus. Everything went haywire after you got locked up. I don’t know what to do.”
“Only thing we can do is hold on and hope I get bail in thirty days. I don’t like to hear you like this. How are you, Mom, and Aunt Consuela holding up?”
“That’s the thing, Gus, we ain’t holding up! The man of the family is in jail. Those people is trying to take the house, the car, and any other assets we have. You need to do something. We falling apart.”
“This shit is fucking crazy. I don’t understand none of these charges. I ain’t get caught with shit but money, and they talking about some drugs and guns.”
“You have one minute remaining. . . .”
“Gus, please call me back whenever you can. I put three hundred dollars on your books. Please take care of yourself in there. I love you, baby,” she cried before the phone disconnected. Gus sighed stressfully before hanging up the phone. As he walked back to his cell, he was approached by a bald Muslim man with a long beard.
“What’s up, youngin’? Ay, listen, Black is family to me and he sent word to me asking me to look out for you and make sure you was good. I never disappoint my family and friends. The name is Shabazz, and my first lookout is me telling you to move out of that cell with that vicious rat-ass nigga. He hotter than fish grease. That nigga will do anything to go home, so don’t talk about your case. I got a bag of food and toiletries for you. Don’t take any shit from that rat. Come get the bag before lockdown time.”
After the block got locked down for the night, Gus put the items from Shabazz in his locker. While doing so, he stared at Kalid with a twisted-up face. When Kalid took noticed, he inquired about the look.
“Damn, brother, did I do something wrong to you? If looks could kill, I would be dead on sight, right now.”
“I tell you what’s wrong. Niggas telling me you a rat and you hop on niggas’ cases. I hope you don’t plan on doing that shit to me because if so, you putting yourself and your family in a fucked-up predicament. My last name Santana, and my niggas on the street will do whatever to make sure I’m secure. You dig me?” he snapped.
Kalid stood up and challenged Gus’s words with some of his own.
“Not that it is any of your business, because for real, I don’t owe you or any of these other chumps on the block an explanation. Only person who could punish or reward me for my actions is Allah. But, since you so concerned about my situation, yeah, I went in. The Quran says, ‘Speak the truth, even when it’s against yourself.’ I cooperated on my case and told them what I did and what I seen. Nothing more. I ain’t never and will never hop on another nigga’s case.” Kalid pounded on his chest, “Believe me, I got my own drama. These niggas in here talking about I’m foul because my codefendants is Muslim, and I turned them over to the oppressors. But when we was out there robbing, killing, selling drugs, and shooting shit up, we wasn’t Muslims; we was oppressing the people in our communities. These niggas come to jail and get righteous but was living foul and shysty on the streets. They the ones that’s confused, not me. Dealing with these feds, you can either save your face or your ass, but you can’t save both. These niggas talk to talk, but deep down inside, they wish they was me. They wish they had something of significance to go in on. How many niggas you know in this day and time that will take thirty years on the chin, knowing they could go in and get five or less? I’m owning mines,” he empathized. The look on Gus’s face was like that of a child who had just been checked or schooled about the facts of life.
Kalid was relieved when he saw Gus’s response. The investigators had promised to put some credit on his commissary and get him his own leather-bound Quran if was able to get information out of Gus, and he was determined to do just that. Seeing how Gus soaked up everything he said, all he had to do now was wait patiently for the opportunity to present itself . . . tactics of a true rat.
Gus lay in his bunk and stayed up all night pondering over all of the decisions and actions he’d been making over that past few months. He was all fucked up thinking about Sha’Ron too. He couldn’t believe his little cousin was dead. He felt like he should’ve been there to protect him. Family was everything to him, and now it seemed like everybody and everything was falling apart. One way or another, he had to figure out how he was going to sort this mess out.
Ready or Not, Here They Come
Crash!
“FBI! Everybody get on the ground now!” ordered the FBI agents that stormed through Gus’s house. The occupants were pulled from their beds where they slept, dressed with practically nothing on. They were gathered on the living room floor where they were searched, cuffed, and made aware of what was happening.
“This property and everything in it is being seized by the United States Government. At this time, you will be escorted off the premises, uncuffed, and free to go as you please. I warn you that this property will be searched thoroughly, and anything illegal will be accounted for. Agents will be here around the clock, so I advise you not to come back or you will be arrested for trespassing.
“Take them out of here.”
Connie, Trish, and Jihad were escorted off the property in nightgowns and underwear. Once the cuffs came off, Connie started her performance. She cussed the agents out and made insulting accusations.
“You motherfuckas couldn’t wait to take that house. Jealous mafuckas. Y’all just mad my son was living better than you at half your age. But guess what? There’s plenty more where that came from. As long as they make money, us Santanas going to find a way to get it.” Jihad and Trish had to literally pull her down the block to avoid being arrested for disturbing the peace.
Luckily, Connie had prepared for the raid and was ten steps ahead of them. From past experience, she knew that there was a great possibility that the feds would come to seize all of Gus’s assets in the wake of his indictment. As a precaution, the other day, she packed a duffle bag with her money and guns and placed it in the trunk of the BMW. She had parked the car around the corner from the house. She went to the stash spot where she retrieved the spare set of keys she had hidden. Temporary relief set in as they drove away from the area.
* * *
Leaf paced back and forth in his living room, anxious to receive some news he’d been waiting on. His mother had confided in him that she thought Black was responsible for Sha’Ron’s death. She told him she was pretty sure that the bullets were meant for him. He’d been waiting to hear from his mother all evening. She had promised to come by tonight and give him more information.
“Leaf!” Consuela burst through the front door. “I took care of the motherfucka that did that to my baby. It was definitely Black’s orders. I took out the shooter, so I’m trusting you to take care of that snake motherfucker Black. But before you do, I got some other shit I gotta take care of. I’ll call you when it’s time to take that nigga out,” she instructed. “If for some reason I can’t call you, keep your ear to the street. When they start talking, shut them the fuck up. Don’t let me or your brother down. You better make that nigga pay for what he did,” she barked before grabbing Leaf and embracing him as if it was the last time.
As she was leaving, she bumped into Nicki who was returning home from work. At first, Nicki thought it was Connie coming to harass her with a hundred questions again, but at closer
look, she recognized it was Consuela. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was still wearing the same black sweat jacket that Connie had put over her shoulders at the hospital the night Sha’Ron was killed. They stopped and greeted each other briefly.
“How you coming along, Consuela?”
“I’m heartbroken, Nicki. I miss my baby boy.” Consuela took a deep breath, “But I’ll be all right.” Suddenly, she looked at her watch and discovered the time.
“Shit, I gotta go. I don’t want to miss this bitch,” she stated before bolting out of the apartment and running to her Range Rover.
Nicki stared on, feeling sorry for her and her family. As she watched Consuela run off, an image came to mind. She suddenly gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. Oh my God. Please tell me I’m wrong. God, don’t let it be true.
She couldn’t believe what she had just come to realize. She was tempted to go and tell Leaf immediately what she’d just discovered, but she decided to get her thoughts and words together before saying anything. The last thing she wanted to do was start more drama. She needed to get her facts together before she said anything at all to Leaf. She was nervous, anxious, and scared of what was going to happen if she revealed what she’d just come to realize. Nicki felt her heart racing and her palms sweating. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead, and her stomach was in knots. Before she had a chance to run toward the Dumpster, she threw up her dinner all over the parking lot.
The Cleanup
After analyzing the situation over and over again, Black decided it was time to take action. The demise of the Santana family was the only chance he had of coming out on top. He had already reached out to his boy Shabazz that was in the same detention center as Gus. Shabazz had assured him that he would keep a close eye on Gus. But Black now needed his man to do more. Shabazz had just gotten thirty years for a robbery, and Black was confident that once he reached out and offered him six figures to leave Gus stinking, that he’d be delighted to move out for the cause. Ryan was scheduled to pay him an attorney visit later that evening and offer the proposal.
As for Jihad, Black had something special planned for his ass. What Jihad had done was unforgivable. He had to be dealt with under special circumstances. Black took his deceitful actions very personal. He had violated him and his home in the worst way imaginable. He vowed that he would personally demonstrate how to deal accordingly with a rat.
Later on that evening, Ryan McMonagle entered the lobby of the Federal Detention Center. At the visiting booth, he passed the officer his government-issued attorney license and waited for her to inspect it.
“Who will you be seeing today, Mr. McMonagle?” she inquired after verifying his identification.
“Stanly Smith, please, ma’am,” he responded. The officer pointed to an attorney booth and informed him his visitor would be down shortly. After a ten-minute wait, Stanly Smith, aka Shabazz, walked into the booth with a confused expression on his face. Ryan recognized it immediately and quickly apologized for the inconvenience.
“I’m sorry for the unexpected visit, but something very urgent has come up. Black is very confident that you will be able to assist him in the matter. To assure you of that, he’s prepared to give you one hundred thousand dollars. This Santana kid has become a headache and you know Black hates Tylenol. So, what’s your take on this one, Shabazz?”
He didn’t respond right away as he contemplated the matter with great consideration. When he finally spoke, he stared Ryan directly in his eyes.
“It’s no question that I’m qualified to take care of the matter. When they gave me thirty mafuckin’ years, they took my life as I used to know it. This is my life. So, now that I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain, I’ma handle the little nigga with pleasure, but I need paper up front. Take my sister’s address and phone number down, and drop it off to her tonight. She hip. I’ll call her in the morning and get confirmation. Once that happens, y’all will have a receipt in the form of a death certificate. Tell Black I send my best wishes, and it’s always a pleasure doing business with him. I probably be in the hole for a couple of years, but I’m a soldier. As long as my peoples is comfortable, I’ma be comfortable. Here’s her info. Well, you got work to do, and so do I, so let’s not hold each other up any longer,” he suggested before standing up. After they shook hands to seal the deal, they both went their separate ways.
* * *
Consuela was in such a rush to get to the day care center, she almost crashed into the back of a trash truck. Once she finally made it there, she was relieved to spot Chyna’s Mercedes still parked out back. She parked her Range Rover close by. While she patiently waited, she pulled the .45 Beretta from her waist and stroked the powerful instrument as if it were some sort of pet. Ever since she found out that Chyna owned this particular day care center, she’d been stationed there every day. Through her observation, she discovered that Chyna’s daughter attended the school as well. Today, she planned to even the score. She was a firm believer of getting shit even with people. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth has always been her way of thinking. With Black having killed her son, nothing was off-limits as far as she was concerned. She was looking forward to what was about to come next. But something unexpected took place that put a delay in her plans. When Chyna exited the establishment, Consuela crouched down to make sure Chyna didn’t see her. Consuela was a little perplexed when she realized Chyna was by herself, though. She was expecting Chyna to be with her and Black’s daughter. She figured someone else must have picked up the little girl earlier that day.
“Bitch, you lucked up today. Go on home to your bitch-ass husband, walking around this motherfucker like your shit don’t stink. You and your husband are filthy, stinking motherfuckers. Best believe I’ma be here bright and early tomorrow and every other day until I get my motherfuckin’ payback,” she promised.
* * *
After dropping the hundred thousand dollars off at Shabazz’s sister’s house, Black headed over to Gus’s spot. He drove a white van with a paint company logo on the side. He brought along the proper accessories to assist him in the murderous plot: plastic, gasoline, power saw, and shovel. Since this was a personal matter, he brought out his personal guns, including his twin Glock 40s with the silencers attached, an AK-47, and a hunting knife. He shaved all the hair off of his head and wore a Dickies overalls suit. He had pulled his daughter out of school earlier that day to spend some quality time with her. At the rate shit was going, tomorrow was far from promised for him. However it went, this was the life he chose. Ratting wasn’t an option, nor was crying. Too bad he couldn’t say the same for the people in his circle. Because of that, he wasn’t taking any chances. As he drove, the voice of the legendary Sam Cooke cranked through the speakers, providing the motivational music to give him the extra push and reminder of what needed done.
“It’s been a long time, a long time coming, but I know a change gonna come. Oh, yes it will. It’s been too hard living, but I’m afraid to die, ‘cause I don’t know what’s up there, beyond the sky . . .”
When he drove down Gus’s block, he bumped into yet another surprise. The alphabet boys were present. Their cars were parked around the house, and they could be seen walking in and out of the front door.
“What the fuck! Did that rat-ass nigga get Connie locked up too? I got to find where they hiding this pussy at. There ain’t enough hours in a day for this shit,” he cursed as he continued to drive with no specific destination in mind.
All Eyes on Me
Now that Gus was in jail, Leaf finally felt like he could breathe a little more easily. All his life he’d felt like he was walking in his cousin’s shadow. It was finally his time to shine. Now, niggas had no choice but to deal with him. There were a few niggas in the city still making moves on their own, but as of late, he and his crew had shit on smash. The money, power, and respect combined had the nigga feeling like a king.
The only thing that was bringing hi
m sadness was that he didn’t have his brother standing next to him. He felt guilty that his brother had taken bullets meant for him, and he had been losing a lot of sleep over it. He wanted everyone involved to pay for what they did to Sha’Ron. He had been waiting on his mother’s call to make his move, and he was running out of patience. His mother had exactly one day to take care of whatever “business” she was referring to; then he was unleashing the beast.
Outside of his business and revenge plans, he had been thinking about making some changes in his love life too. He had decided to make him and Nicki official once he’d taken care of shit and things calmed down a little bit. She had been extrasupportive during his unfortunate times and demonstrated enormous patience in dealing with him. The way she’d been handling herself since the night of his brother’s shooting showed how loyal she was. She was a ride or die, and she’d always told him that all she had ever wanted in return was love and quality time. He was supposed to be moving into a furnished condo the following morning, and he had already told her that he wanted her to come with him. As much as he loved his current spot, it was obvious his enemies knew where he rested his head, so he had no intentions on staying around. He couldn’t wait for all this shit to blow over so he could chill at his new spot with his feet up like a king, while his team maintained control and played their positions to the fullest.
Nicki had requested some weed earlier that evening so he called Ikeal and told him to bring some exotic, along with a few bottles of syrup. His man stopped everything he was doing to accommodate him and come right through for him. As he and Nicki puffed on the exotic weed, they blasted 50 Cent old shit from Get Rich or Die Tryin’. Fuck the neighbors. It was their last night there anyway, they reasoned. Leaf had drunk two bottles of syrup like it wasn’t about nothing. The codeine and weed made the nigga horny as hell, not to mention the way Nicki’s ass was jiggling in those tight-ass booty shorts while she danced to the music. The weed always seemed to loosen her right up.
